


I put a curse on you

by Arsonic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - 50 Shades of Grey Fusion, FSoG does not have any, Humour, I hate writing in first person pov so much, I like healthy relationships, M/M, So OOC they might as well be OC's, Writing exercise gone wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 04:08:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsonic/pseuds/Arsonic
Summary: In which Harry is not a naive ingenue for all that Thomas Riddle assumes he is.





	I put a curse on you

 

You know those days when you wake up and your hair just looks perfect? Even though you’d done nothing at all it is just perfect, fluffy, surprisingly untangled and framing your face like the halo in all the Renaissance baby Jesus paintings.

 

This was not one of those days. To be fair, there will never be such a day for me, my genetics ensure that I shall never have a good hair day in my entire life. But, I am a fucking idiot who decided to sleep with wet hair and now I look like a rent boy who’s been fucked by so many people that the bed-head had become embedded in my DNA and shall be passed on to the future generations of Potters. 

 

Between the glasses, because my lenses aren’t here and the bed head, I look like a librarian twink from a porno. Which would be a great look if I was going clubbing, but not when I’m supposed to be interviewing some important person.

 

Still, maybe if I have bad hair Hermione won’t make me run important errands for her!

 

Oh, who am I kidding, it’s Hermione. If the bristly bush she calls hair doesn’t stop her from leaving the house, there’s no way my bed-head will make a decent excuse. 

 

Sure, the last time she had a bad hair day she refused to leave the apartment but that was probably more because of the red devil in her belly.

 

Today, I have an interview to conduct. Mione, my friend/roommate has come down with a flu that has left her bedridden and I must take her place and ask dumb questions to a rich person.

 

Lucky bitch.

 

“Harry.” Croaks the voice of aforementioned lucky bitch from the couch where she is camping. I shudder at the sound of it, if it wasn’t light outside I would think I’m in the middle of a horror movie which would be bad for me. Everyone knows the pretty people die first in horror movies. “Get your arse out there.”

 

“But I don’t want to. I just want to stay here and take care of you like a good wife should.”

 

“You don’t have the boobs I want, don’t go pretending to be a lesbian from the 50’s.” She snorts and then instantly begins hacking and coughing. A stuffed nose will do that to you. 

 

“But-“

 

“No buts, do this and I’ll dress up and pretend to be a Veela when we go grocery shopping once I’m not dying. I’ll even use the Allure potion,” Hermione says and I leap at the chance.

 

It was all the compensation I would need if she did that. It would feel like I had actually won the bet for which one of us Zacharias Zabini would hit on, and that consequently I  _ hadn’t  _ had to dress up in a vintage 50’s pin up style dress complete with stockings and heels and had to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies and then ask which broom would give me the roughest ride of my life. A boy can dream.

 

“Promise?”

 

“Only if you leave now and do the interview.”

 

“Fine. But I am warning you in advance that if anything goes wrong it is entirely your fault seeing as how you sent a crazy person in your place.”

 

“I can blame it on a fever hallucination. Please?” She says still in the process of convincing me although given her stuffy nose it comes off more as ‘Peaj’.

 

Hermione has a tendency to overdo the extracurricular activities. One of those activities involves being the editor of the student newspaper. And this particular interview that she has scored is a real coup or so I am told. Apparently the person I shall be interrogating is supposed to be notoriously reclusive, super rich and a mysterious benefactor to our prestigious university, the CEO of Riddle Enterprises or Holdings or Incorporated or something. 

 

“Fine, although why you want me to go is strange, I’m not even on the student newspaper!”

 

“Just go already or I’ll tell everyone...” She trailed off into a sneeze. While I would normally love to get her sick germs all over me in an attempt to not get sick and then boast about my wondrous immunity, being the paragon of virtue that I am I run off to do the stupid interview.

 

It is hard to believe that I have allowed Hermione to live even though she has so much blackmail material on me. Honestly, she’s managed to get me to do something I absolutely never want to do, ask a rich person regimented questions. Blech.

 

I’d much rather wear that dress again.

 

* * *

 

Apparating to Diagon Alley doesn’t take much time and soon I find the Riddle headquarters. My destination is an ugly metallic building with no history or character whatsoever. It doesn’t fit in with all the other magical buildings there, with the straight lines of steel and glass exterior, and the painfully pristine off-white interiors with soft lounge music playing. If ever there was a space that needed colourful pop art, this was it and yet the only painting there was a garish black and white thing. The whole building stood out, too muggle and corporate compared to the kitsch of the other Diagon Alley buildings.

 

There’s a desk in the lobby, crisp and clean with a pretty, well groomed woman, very obviously Muggleborn, sitting behind it wearing the newly launched floo-headset that this company was known for creating. I always see muggleborns in such clerical jobs, except in the ministry where everyone was pureblood or halfblood with a prestigious name to them. I had had high hopes for Riddle inc but they were obviously all for naught. Just once, I’d like to see a Pureblood receptionist, is that really so much to ask for?

 

“Yo,” I start and she looks to me in surprise. I have forgotten that it is not the kind of greeting one gives in a formal situation, having spent most of my time in a study group that is mainly made up of all my fellow League of Limpidity gamers and Quidditch junkies. I smile as politely as I can manage, which frankly, isn’t really that polite to begin with, and try to regain my footing, “Hi, I’m Hadrian Potter filling in for Hermione Granger, I have an interview today with...”

 

“Yes, the Hogwarts student here for Mr Riddle. Just a moment please.” She says and checks her PDA while I ponder the fact that the person I was here to meet was actually called Riddle. Who names their company after themselves anyway? Even Malfoy, who is the epitome of a narcissist, hasn’t named his company after himself. Although that may have more to do with his iffy reputation now that I think about it.  “You’ll need to sign in with security and then take the elevator to the twentieth floor.”

 

Security includes going through many detector wards and a muggle sort of metal detector as well. I sign in the registry with a blood quill of all things and they let me keep my pen, wand and bag after rifling through it, and hand me a visitor badge. It is plain and as ugly as the building and I didn’t even think it was possible to fit that much ugly into a small piece of plastic like that.

 

On the twentieth floor I am ushered into a room with a big desk and leather chairs by yet another receptionist, a muggleborn again but at least a man this time round. 

 

Probably not too fair of me to judge this, though. At least these muggleborns have a job. Besides, I am just here for an interview, I can’t expect to meet high ranking muggleborn officials like that.

 

Through the glass of the window you could see a great deal of the city including the London Eye, focus of at least two dystopian movies that I have seen in the past three months. Kind of blows the mind that they might be shooting yet another one there at this very moment.

 

As I’m waiting there, yet another woman comes in. At this point I’m just wondering if they have any men working here at all besides the one man I had seen. Now that I think about it even the security guard who checked me in was a woman too. “Mr Potter?”

 

“That would be me.”

 

“Mr Riddle will see you soon.”

 

“Well that’s nice.” 

 

“May I take your cloak?”

 

“Umm sure.” I say and hand it over and she smiles graciously.

 

“Have you been offered something to drink?” She sounds so suspicious when she says that that my mind jumps to the time when I was invited to a party at the Diggory’s and came back home so happy my Sirius thought I was high and congratulated me.

 

“I’m not a minor so you don’t really have to worry about someone supplying me with alcohol.”

 

“Oh no,” She titters delicately. “No I meant have you been offered any refreshments.”

 

“Not really. Is that part of the protocol?”

 

“Colin was supposed to do so, it’s common courtesy after all.” She glares at the one dude working there I’d seen there. Unfortunately I couldn’t admit to having no clue what  common courtesy included seeing as how I had been spending most of my time at university where we rate people doing the walk of shame as a morning ritual, so Colin was probably going to get yelled at once I left. “I’m sorry, he’s our new intern.” 

 

I’m sorry he’s your new intern too, Third Muggleborn Lady at the office.

 

My thoughts of feminism are interrupted when the door I hadn’t noticed, opened and a tall man in a nice suit with skin the shade of butterscotch sauce and wonderfully maintained dreads that would be the envy of the guy who sits next to me in Pol-Sci, walks out. “Gobstones this week, Riddle.” He says into the room while I wonder if he was Mr Riddle’s lover on the down low. The man was way too hot to be a business associate even though he was in a suit. 

 

I watch far too much TV.

 

Upon seeing me sitting there he smiles, and man was it a stellar smile or what, which only furthered my suspicions. Business men don’t smile, they just take money from people. That had been drilled into me by Sirius all those years when he’d told me that business men were simply goblins in human form. 

 

Hermione has  **really** picked the wrong person to conduct this interview. I wonder if maybe she was hallucinating after all.

 

“Have a good day Mr Zabini,” Third Muggleborn Lady said to the man exiting from the office and Colin rushed to press the button of the elevator for him. When he is finally gone Third Muggleborn Lady turns to me. “Mr Riddle will see you now, no need to knock, just walk right in.”

 

“Thank you.”  I say, taking her advice and walking right in. 

 

I almost trip when the door turned out to be way heavier than it looked and threw me off balance but having spent a lot of time flying on and jumping off brooms, my abilities to ground myself are frankly astounding. It only takes a few not too graceful hops but I am in the office, still standing on my feet!

 

“Mr Granger,” Says the far too young dude in the office of Mr Riddle as he puts his hand forward for me to shake. “I’m Thomas Riddle, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

I immediately take notice of how attractive he is. It’s one of the side effects of being painfully single, a sort of hyper awareness of hot men. I revise my opinion of whether the man I saw exiting was his lover immediately. Thomas Riddle is wearing a grey suit, shoes that probably cost more than my tuition fees and no tie, choosing instead to leave the first few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. 

 

He is seriously hot. Like underwear model hot. He has a really nice square jaw and a sexy mouth that’s currently curved into a smirk. He also has the build of a soccer player, all lean muscle, made obvious by the aforementioned beautifully cut grey suit that match his eyes and bring out the blue tones in his dark hair.

 

Thomas Riddle is waaaaay out of Mr Zabini’s league.

 

“It’s Mr Potter actually,  _ Ms  _ Granger is currently indisposed.” See Also: Sick as a dog who ate chocolate. Only then do I notice that he has his hand extended in front of him and I put my hand in his, shaking it firmly. Last time I was given a handshake was by a very old man who was apparent a friend of the family who chided me for a weak handshake. I do not repeat mistakes.

 

“Please, take a seat.” He gestures to the white leather couch in the room that has a low coffee table in front of it. I don’t know why, when there’s a perfectly functional swivel chair in front of his desk.

 

The office had quite high ceilings and the top to bottom windows that just scream God Complex while the rest of the furniture was all dark wood and leather. I wonder how many cows were killed for all the leather in this building.

 

Which also makes me wonder how many animals die for all the parchment we use in college.

 

Bloody hell, how many animals  _ do  _ die for it actually? And why hasn’t Hermione tried to save them? 

 

I take Hermione’s special quill out of my pocket with its ridiculously expensive Wizarding wireless quality recording enchantments and activate it to record our interview.

 

It took a while to figure it out, Hermione’s quills are highly specific and she tends to tinker with them to personalise them. When I was done I looked up to find Thomas Riddle looking at me with amusement in his eyes. It is only as I turn back to the quill that I realise that there are a million settings that I need to adjust before I can begin this interview to reduce the static.

 

“I’m sorry for the delay, I’m sure you want to get back to work as soon as possible.” I say without looking up at him because that amused look makes me fairly annoyed.

 

“Take your time Mr Potter.”

 

“Hope you don’t mind me recording your answers, it’ll move the interview along much faster.”

 

“It’s a bit late to ask me that, don’t you think?” He sounds smug. I do not deal well with smug.

 

“Better late than never. So, do you mind?”

 

“No it’s fine.” He says dismissively.

 

“Did Hermione inform you what the interview was for?”

 

“Yes, Ms Granger said that it’s for the university’s student newspaper. It’s supposed to run for the graduation issue special seeing as how I am the one who’ll be conferring the degrees at the ceremony.”

 

Well, at least she told someone because all she told me was to get out and do the interview.

 

“Wonderful, we can look forward to meeting again when you confer my degree to me.”I say absently

 

I’d like to say that I didn’t feel immediately insecure as I realised that this man who was barely  few years older than me would be giving me my degree even as I would enter the job market and start from scratch to earn one tenth of what he did. However that would not be true and his success at least did leave me with some sense of admiration although I’d reserve complete judgement for when I know if the methods he employed to attain that success were actually above board.

 

Call me paranoid but it is more suspicious that someone so young would be at such a prestigious position than it is awe-inspiring. For all I know he cut corners and scammed people to get where he was.

 

“Shall we move on to the questions?”

 

“It is what we’re here for.” He snarks.

 

“You’re fairly young for a CEO of a corporation that appears to be well beyond a company and well in the empire status, to what do you owe such success?” I read from the parchment Hermione had scribbled on. He looks disappointed but then again I would be too if I was asked such a cliché question. 

 

“Business is about people. I happen to be a good judge of people and hire the best.” He looks me in the eye and raises a smug eyebrow. “I believe achieving success is about control, power and magic, and people are wildcards. They are the one part of the scheme that you cannot usually control. I make it a point to know people well enough that I can control them or at least foretell their actions. Logic,facts and magic are good but when it comes to putting a plan into action the variables are what you really have to watch out for. Control is key, and I have it.”

 

There are some people who would manage to say all that and make it seem like they were talking about people, but the way Riddle was talking only made it all about himself. It wasn’t the lack of humility but the tone, the very way he was drawling out syllables to make it all about him was weird. 

 

“What would you have to tell those who would say that you simply got lucky?”

 

“There is a reason I opted out of Divination after all. I believe in the predictability of human nature.”

 

I wish Hermione was here. She would have been able to rebut his argument, saying that divination was simply cold reading disguised as prophecy and thus was an indicator of human predictability. I didn’t have quite that flair to start that argument. And I didn’t give a fuck, making shite prophecies in Trelawney’s class about death was one of the many things propping up my grades after all.

 

“So your strategy to success involves mainly controlling people?”

 

“I’m controlling in  _ everything _ I do Mr Potter .” He says with a predatory smile. I take a deep breath to calm myself and he just seems amused by it. I wouldn’t admit to being nervous, that would imply that he had that much influence on me, that he got under my skin and I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction especially since he seemed to be so in love with the idea of control. Fuckwad.

 

There was subtext to the conversation, but I just didn’t know what it was. It could have just been a layer of flirting that was added but why would he flirt with the replacement of the representative of a student newspaper? It just didn’t make sense. 

 

“Do you feel particularly powerful?” I ask veering off script just for a second if only to wind him up the way he was trying to do to me.

 

“I employ thousands of people, people who inevitably owe their entire ability to pay bills and live as a useful part of society due to my employing them. I  _ am _ powerful Mr Potter.” 

 

It takes everything in me to control the twitch in my mouth, all I wanted to do was just snarl at this man and rip him and his ego to shreds. He obviously didn’t have any friends because they would have beaten some sense into him if they existed. Also, thousands? Really. There just weren’t that many magicals in Britain, what a load of crap.

 

“Do you have a board you’re answerable to?”

 

“I own my own company, I don’t have to answer to a board.” He said as if I was already supposed to know that, which I suppose I was, or at least ‘Ms Granger’ was, but the readers of the university paper didn’t.

 

“Not having a board to answer to, does that boil down to the control thing again?”

 

“To an extent.”

 

“But given that you pride yourself on your ability to read people and judge them-“

 

“Control isn’t the only way to success, maximising efficiency is also one of those things, having a lot of board members would just mean that many more people to make the decision that I would have made anyway. It’s a drain of resources.”

 

“Moving on, do you have any interests outside of work Mr Riddle?”

 

I could ask him questions about his work all day long but it’s not like he’d give me a straight answer. It’s all very vague, he’s made no mention of any company policy or the agenda that he’s working with, he’s just reworded basic stuff to make it all about him. 

 

“I have varied interests Mr Potter. Very varied.” And he’s back to the predatory smile but this time he follows it up with a good-natured laugh that is, frankly, far more disarming than the smirk ever was. 

 

It is the potential in people that adds to their allure and he had the potential to be so much more than he was, just as a person.

 

“Could you elaborate Mr Riddle?” Regardless of the direction my thoughts were taking, I did have a script to stick to after all.

 

“Flying, sailing, art, duelling professionally, various exhausting physical pursuits.” I wish I was a muggle psychology major instead of DADA, maybe then I could break his words down to minute pieces and psychoanalyse him the way he is just begging me to. Everything he said just boiled down to ‘pretentious rich people stuff’ in my head anyway.

 

“Gobstones?” I ask, remembering the plans that he had with Mr Zabini.

 

“Gobstones isn’t that physically exhausting a pursuit.”

 

Yes, but maybe ‘Gobstones’ with Mr Zabini is, wink wink. This man’s personality is so suckish it puts him back in Mr Zabini’s league.

 

“According to your portfolio, you invest in Warding and runecrafts  in particular. Is there any reason for that?”

 

He shrugs. “Learning the anatomy of the greater constructs in the world is an interest of mine, construction and deconstruction, the very creation of things from their inside out, it’s utterly fascinating. And I have an especial love of magical artifacts and their interactions with the ley lines.”

 

“That sounds more personal though. More of a dream or a desire than a logical foray in business.”

 

“There are some who would say that the thought of me having personal dreams and desires is laughable.” 

 

“Why would they say that?”

 

“Because they’re right.” This time the smile is a bit sad actually. I felt bad for him for a split second, he clearly had no friends (not that that was a surprise).

 

“Surely your adopted family-“

 

He closes off very quickly at that.“That involves my personal life and like I’ve mentioned to Ms Granger, I will not be answering any questions regarding my private life. I don’t even give interviews that often specifically to keep my private life, exactly that, private.”

 

“Then why did you agree to this one?” He doesn’t want to answer questions about his personal life, he doesn’t want to give a straight answer to any questions about his work, what the hell am I here for anyway?

 

“Ms Granger was persistent in her efforts to get an interview. I admire that in a person.” He said ruefully.

 

That sounds like Hermione. Bull-headed and has no idea when to stop. Of course  _ he _ finds that trait admirable, he isn’t the one who has to bail her out of jail because she got too close to an ongoing investigation she was reporting on.

 

“Do you have a philosophy? In work of course, given that your personal life is not open for questions.” I wish I could be the kind of caustic I am dying to be.

 

“To some extent I agree with Carnegie’s principle: A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his mind may take possession of anything else to which he is entitled. I take an exceptional amount of pride in control but it is my ability of self control that is my greatest asset.” 

 

Control, control, control. And he always talks about it so pointedly too, he does seem to be aiming all the statements about controlling variables and people and even the physically exhaustive hobbies directly to me, as if he’s answering some question I never even asked him. It’s odd.

 

“....I gathered that.” I said as dryly as possible. “But given this philosophy, who or what exactly decides what you’re entitled to?”

 

“If I can have them then I’m entitled to them.” He waves his hand as if that was something obvious.

 

“That sounds like a consumer strategy rather than a business one.”

 

“Two sides of the same coin, Mr Potter.”

 

“Hmm now I realise that this might venture to the more personal side of things but  _ if _ I may ask, are you gay?”

 

“Are you really asking me this question  _ Hadrian _ ?” Just something about the way he says my name sends shivers down my spine. I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or not but  he says it silkily, like he’s tasting it on his tongue, almost hissing it. Odd.

 

“It’s on the questionnaire Mr Riddle.”

 

“These aren’t your questions?” There is a sudden twitch in his jaw.

 

“No, as mentioned before I am simply here as a placeholder for Ms Granger. These are her questions.”  _ I _ would like to ask how he manages to stay sane in such a cold clinical place, how detached he seemed from most of his own stuff, why he had this strange fascination with tapping his finger against his lip, and why he kept on looking me right in the eye with such intensity that made wonder if I should be occluding my mind.

 

But that isn’t on the questionnaire.

 

“That explains a lot.”

 

“Does it?”

 

“You’re not colleagues on the university paper are you?”

 

“Not really. But that doesn’t make me any less qualified to ask questions Mr Riddle.”

 

“It wasn’t your qualifications I was questioning  _ Hadrian _ , it was your willingness.” Again with my name, it’s making me feel jumpy.

 

“Mione isn’t well and most of the others on the newspaper have exams right now, I’m supposed to be revising for mine actually but here I am instead since my exams don’t start till the day after.”

 

Before he could respond to my statement however, Third Muggleborn lady comes into the room. 

 

“I’m sorry for interrupting Mr Riddle but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

 

“I’m afraid we’re not quite finished here. Reschedule the meeting Sally.”

 

She seems surprised by it if the momentary frown that appears on her face before disappearing just as quickly was anything to go by.

 

“Sally,” He repeats, turning her name into a command. Her gaze flicks between the two of us and she turned and left without another word. “Where were we Mr Potter?”

 

“I’d rather you hadn’t cancelled your meeting on my account.” He has this tick where he just keeps on playing with his mouth it’s as if his fingers are just attached to it like magnets or something. It really is quite a sexy mouth, if it weren’t for all the crap that comes out of it I’d like it very much.

 

“Nonsense, I simply want to know about the boy who’s interviewing me. Seems like a fair trade doesn’t it?” He’s tapping his hand against his lip again, it’s like he’s from some 90’s boy band and he’s shooting a video for their cool new video. 

 

“We still have a few questions left.”

 

“Indulge me  _ Hadrian _ .” He says it but he means something very different from what he said. I’m not the best judge of these sort of things, being fairly obvious for the most part but there was a strange undercurrent to the way he said my name. It was creeping me out.

 

“If we’re going to be on a first name basis just call me Harry.”

 

“I prefer  _ Hadrian _ .” 

 

“I don’t care about your preferences.” I can’t control myself anymore, unlike him I run on impulses and I have been holding mine back for quite some time now. 

 

He looked taken aback but then he laughed again. I wish he wouldn’t do that, I have a thing for laughs and he has a really nice one and I don’t want to like him.

 

“Tell me Mr Potter, what are your plans after graduation?”

 

“I’m not much of a planner Mr Riddle, I prefer to live in the moment. The moment currently involves studying to pass exams.”

 

“You know we have an excellent internship program here.”

 

“What would a graduate of DADA be doing at a conglomerate with a focus on manufacturing? Besides, I wouldn’t quite fit in here.” 

 

“Why do you say that?” He asks me, being serious for the first time since we’d met and I only realise then how much fun he’d been having at my expense just riling me up like that the whole interview.

 

Still there’s no real answer I could give him beyond, ‘I lied, I just don’t want to work here’ so I just hmm-ed.

 

“Would you like me to show you around?”

 

And now the CEO is offering to be my tour guide in his ugly steel and glass building. Joy.

 

“It’s nice of you to offer but I have a bit of a long journey ahead of me so...”

 

“You’re not apparating back?” He frowned.

 

“No.” Sirius lives close by and I was going to visit him before taking his bike out for a fly.

 

“Best be careful then. You have everything you need?”

 

I begin packing up the quill then. For something so tiny it weighed a ton or at least it felt like it. Packing up while someone is staring at you can be an unnerving experience.

 

“Thank you for answering the questions. It may not be the prestigious journal that you’d rather get the publicity from but we are still rather grateful.”

 

Instead of shaking my hand like I expect him to he simply opens the door for me.

 

“I seem to recall it being a bit heavy at the time.” He says with barely veiled amusement.

 

What a dick. I don’t give him the satisfaction of responding, and instead just walk out with my head held so high I probably made him look humble.

 

“Do you have a cloak?” He asks with a frown. Like he was actually worried.

 

Ha!

 

“Yes Colin was nice enough to take it from me when I came up.”  In response he hurried out of his seat and handed it over to me still staring at Riddle. Well, it was fairly odd on his part as CEO to pretend to be so personable.

 

“Let me help you with that.” Riddle says, obviously assuming that I’d be wearing the cloak.

 

“Thank you but that won’t be necessary.” I drape it over my arm instead and walked over to the elevator with a nod to Sally and Colin who were still staring. Unfortunately Thomas Riddle follows me there and reaches out from behind me to press the buttons. Creep. 

 

We just stood there waiting, I could feel him standing behind me but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of me turning around to interact with him.

 

With a ding the doors open up and I step inside only then turning around to face Riddle.

 

“Until we meet again Mr Potter.” He says, the grey eyes turning almost silver under the harsh lights of the office. I am again taken aback by the subtext in what he said and the, dare I say it, anticipation until I remember one little fact.

 

“So my graduation then.” His reply is lost as the doors close and in the safety of the elevator my hand rises of its own accord and hoists my middle finger as a flag.

 

Creepy little fucker.

  
  
  


 


End file.
